Alternating Weekend Blues

My bowel movements should be so regular. Every other Friday afternoon, I get anxious. Anxious to see my kids again, anxious to squeeze in as much “parenting time” as I can in forty-eight hours, anxious to get those painful good-byes and tears over with at 6 PM Sunday, and anxious for my next chance to play father to roll around, the Friday after next.

I pull into what used to be my driveway at a little after 5 PM. She’s waiting for me at what used to be my front door. She’s wearing a bright orange bikini top and cutoff jeans. Her skin is well-tanned. She’s been getting some sun lately. Probably spent a lot of time lounging on what used to be my patio. At least I didn’t pay for the swimming pool. Her new hubby did that.

She watches me get out of the car and she says, “The kids are still at soccer practice.”

I say, “So, Lyle’s bringing them home in a couple of hours? Cutting into my parenting time again?” I say His name as contemptuously as I can, which isn’t hard. Lyyyyye-elllllll. Sounds like a whine.

Carole rolls her eyes. “Be nice. Tommy’s mom is dropping them off. They’ll be here by six. Promise. And anyway, you’re early.”

“Can’t have Lyyyyye-elllll undermining me anymore than he already is.”

Carole puts her hands on her hips. “That’s not fair.”

“It’s the truth. Nicole says Lyyyyyye-elllll wants to take you all to Disney World next spring.”

Carole grimaces. “You weren’t supposed to know about that. You want to come inside and wait?”

“Am I invited in?”

“Of course.” She walks into the house.

I follow her. I say, “I’d better be. This used to be my house. Is Lyyyyyyye-lllll here?”

“No. You’re bitter today.”

“Where is he? Buying the kids a pony?”

“No. Lyle’s working late. I’m meeting him in town for dinner later.” Carole walks up the stairs. “He’d rather not be here when you pick up the kids. He says you make him uneasy.”

“Why would he think that?” I’m right behind her. My hand is on the banister that I remember sanding and staining myself.

“The last time you saw him, you told him if you ever saw him again you’d break your foot off in his ass.”

“The guy’s got no sense of humor.”

Carole reaches the top of the stairs and turns left into her bedroom. She says, “I wish you two would get along better. It would make things so much easier.”

“Lyyyyyye-elllll needs a little difficulty in his life.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Carole whirls around. Her eyes are aflame with an anger I know all too well.

“It means the son of a bitch has a wife and a family and a house he didn’t do a God-damned thing to earn. I earned them for him!”

“Christ, Jesse! You can be such a baby! Why can’t you let the anger go?”

“Because I don’t want to! It’s the only thing I have left!”

“No, it’s the only thing you ever had!”

That one hurts. It hurts like an old wound that’s been re-opened. We stand there in her bedroom for a silent moment. Finally, Carole says, “The kids’ll be here in about half an hour. They don’t need to see us like this.”

“You’re right. Sorry.”

Carole says, “I am, too.” We’re silent for another moment. Finally, she says, “So, do you want to fuck or what?”

I take off my shirt. “Yeah. I do.”

We’re quickly naked. The bed and the sheets are new, and somehow it’s more satisfying knowing they’re not mine, but Lyyyyyyyye-ellllll’s bed and sheets.

I had a date last weekend and we went to bed, and it was like I was wearing someone else’s old shoes. When Carole sucks my cock, it feels good, it feels right. When I rub her clit with my tongue, she moans and I know I’m doing it the way I’m supposed to. Last weekend I was so nervous I was afraid I couldn’t cum at all. Now, my problem is cumming too soon. Carole’s on top, riding me, sitting on my lap, moving her hips back and forth and moaning and I have to grab her to make the aching in my balls stop for a moment.

We don’t say a word; we don’t have to. We’re as coordinated at this as a dance team. I sit up, wrap my arms around Carole, lie back down, and together, we roll over so I’m on top. My cock is still inside her. Once again, a flawless maneuver.

I lift her legs and rest them on my shoulders, lifting her legs and thrusting so the head of my cock strokes her g-spot the way I know she likes. She cries out in pleasure.

“Yes, Jesse! Oooh, yes! You fuck me so good!”

“Better than Lyyyyyyye-ellll?” I punctuate the sentence with an especially hard thrust.

She laughs. “Much better. Oooh, so much better.”

I know what she likes. I lean forward and whisper, “Roll over.”

Carole’s eyes glow. She obeys me. There’s a smile on her face as she gets on all fours, sticking her ass in the air. I slip my cock into her pussy and I’m quickly fucking her doggie style, making a slapping sound as my hips hit the bare skin of her buttocks. “Does he fuck you like this,” I ask.

“No. No, he doesn’t. You always fucked me better.” Her breathing is getting labored. She’s getting close.

“You like the way I fuck you, don’t you?”

“Oooh, yes! Yes, baby!” Carole looks over her shoulder at me. “You know exactly what I like.”

Indeed I do. To demonstrate I know exactly what Carole’s after I give her a hard slap on the ass with the palm of my hand.

Carole squeals. She looks over her shoulder and smiles again. “That’s not the best you’ve got.”

A few moments later, my cock is in her ass, one hand is entangled in her hair, and the other hand is slapping away, turning the flesh of her buttock from pink to scarlet. I tug on her hair, pulling her head back and making her arch her spine. She screams. I thrust hard, driving my cock deeply into her anus and making her scream louder. Every time she screams I feel my cock pulse, making it feel even bigger in her tight ass.

It’s a good thing Carole’s cries are accentuated with the occasional, “YES! HARDER!” Otherwise, someone might call the cops to report an attempted murder.

It used to be hard for me to be rough with Carole, even when she asked for it. It used to worry me that I might actually hurt her. It used to bother me so much I had a hard time really cutting loose.

It used to.

Now that her anus has become accustomed to my cock, the thrusting goes much smoother. Slowly, Carole ends up lying on her stomach. I hook my arm under hers and behind her neck, in a wrestler’s half-nelson. I get a little extra leverage for my thrusts, and she likes the way her movement is restricted. I thrust faster and faster, and she’s stopped screaming, just grunting every time my cock goes into her ass. I grit my teeth. I can feel the muscles in my neck bulging. Carole’s face is red and her eyes are closed tight. When she starts to cum, her back arches and she tries to throw her head back, but since I’ve got her in the half-nelson, she can’t move it and instead, she buries her face in the pillow and screams loud and long and I thrust harder and harder and with my free hand, I slap her ass again and again, and her wail is punctuated by high-pitched screams, “AhhhhhhhhhhhAH! AhhhhhhhhhAH!” My body tenses up and my muscles lock and I hold my cock deep inside Carole’s anus as long as I can before I let it go, letting the orgasm take over, making my body burn as I blow my load inside Carole’s rectum. I let out a loud grunt that turns into a low growl. My cock spasms and pulses. Still in my grip, Carole’s body is as rigid as is my cock and, when I feel myself growing limp, all the tension in her muscles fades, too.

I’m dizzy. Carole moans like she’s staggered out of a car wreck. We don’t have time to lie there and recover, because the first words out of Carole’s mouth are, “The kids will be here in ten minutes.”

Fifteen minutes later, after hugs and kisses and hellos to me and goodbyes to Mommy, I’m driving away with the dual center of my universe. We chat for a few minutes, catching up on two weeks worth of news and then Nicole asks, “Daddy? What’s a strayni gorder?”

“A what?”

“A strayni gorder. My friend Chelsea said her mommy had to get a strayni gorder for her daddy.”

Now that I hear the term in context, it’s easy to translate from four-year old to grown-up. “A RE-straining order, honey. It’s a piece of paper that says Chelsea’s dad and mom have to stay away from each other because they can’t get along. Are Chelsea’s parents divorced?”


Nathan says, “I’ve got lots of friends who’ve got divorced parents.”

Nicole says, “Does Mommy have a strayni gorder for you, Daddy?”

“No, honey. Mommy and Daddy get along pretty good.”

An icy cold hand clutches at my heart. My knees are still weak from the great sex I’ve just had. My voice quivers as I’ve realized once again that as fantastic as the sex has always been, it’s just never been enough.

Nicole says, “I’m glad you and Mommy get along good.”

“So am I.”

© 2002 J.T. Benjamin. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

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